Suicide Kids
by silverspeak
Summary: "You kids today and your strange hobbies."
1. Noose

***Kenny

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"Dude, that's hilarious!"

"That's probably gonna be taken away from you. You know that, right?"

"A gun would be cooler."

"Aha! Have your Batman costume in your pants too?"

Mostly though, no one mentioned it. Just one of those strange fashion tends maybe. I slouch. My hands are in my pockets. I don't even try to laugh along anymore. Not that I'm not amused by their ignorance, I'm just tired. So tired.

It just hangs innocently out of my back pocket. Butters even complemented my on my awesome "lasso". Of course no one would come to the conclusion that it is, in fact, not a joke. It's not even a test. Just an acute curiosity. Ironically though, I can't seem to pay much attention to the things around me. I don't hear their laughing anymore. It's just a white noise. Hazy and desaturated. I wonder if I can even distinguish color anymore. Everyone's face looks the same.

I forget the about the bus. I walk against the traffic of teenagers. I feel my own eyelashes against my cheeks as I blink. I feel my teeth behind my lips. Feel the oxygen go through my nose. Feel the heat of peoples bodies and they brush against my arms.

The air is cool and crisp. It tastes like Spring. The winter snow crunches beneath my worn-down Converse. I turn and watch the imprints behind me getting smaller and smaller. Soon it will snow again. The canvas will be wiped clean.

Mom is lying on the couch, her face covered with her hands. All the booze in the world won't make her feel anymore needed. I crouch and duck through the gapping hole in my door. No point in using it any other way now. I let myself fall onto the tattered mattress. Face pressed against the torn sheets, I lift my hands to my backside.

Nothing.

Panic-stricken, I shoves my hands into all my pockets. No. No no no. I groan and tug at my bangs. The security blanket was gone. That was my escape. The door without the gapping hole. The one that locked from the inside so no one could follow. I slide down to the floor and sit in silence. There's always more than one door.

I walk over to the small dresser lying on its side. I tear out the drawer and watch as its contents scatter. I pick up Dad's old, rusty razor. The blade had broke in half making it come to a jagged point. Best gift the old man had ever given me. I smile as I slowly bring it up to my neck.


	2. Gasoline

Gasoline

Six five gallon containers. He enjoyed carrying them inside one by one. The weight reminding him of a small child, sleeping soundly in his arms. They were carefully placed side by side in the corner of the motel bathroom. The door was locked. The windows were closed.

One by one the containers were embraced and carefully opened. A kiss for each as their contents were emptied into the rusted tub. Everything was released, even as the last tank made fluids rush over the sides and gush onto the cracked, tiled floor. The empty vessels were carelessly tossed to the side. They collided into one another, there comined sounds echoed in the tiny room.

Pale hands gripped the smooth sides of the tub, lowering himself down. The liquid melded into his clothes, clinging to him and he sat himself down. The red-head let the weight of his body take over, sinking down. His head rested itself beside the faucet. One arm stood straight out, clinging to his last earthy pleasure.

For the first time in so long he felt heavy. His skin itched. His head ached. His mouth felt dry despite the liquid surrounding him. The smell. God, the smell. His fingers twitched. The immersed hand slowly felt up and down his heavy limbs. It came up to smooth over his head. His chest. Heavy.

His other hand gripped a half-empty pack of cigarettes. His hand shook as it slowly lifted itself towards his chest. Damp fingers picking one small cylinder out, bringing it to his mouth. He reached back inside the package. Kenny had always done the same thing. Keeping the lighter in the pack didn't make much difference, really. The weight, though, was noticeable.

Kyle didn't dare breathe in. After the tremendous effort of flicking the light on he sat silently, mesmerized by the small flame. The resulting threads of smoke swam up above him. Suddenly his arm was outstretched beside him again, resting on the frame of the tub. One inhale. He closed his eyes and held the air inside. Those few seconds were all he could ever ask for. He felt heavy, full and satisfied. The lighter fell out of his lax fingers.

There were no room for senses now. He couldn't see the thousands of golden snakes as they danced around his head and played with stands of hair. Couldn't hear their roar and their whispered insults as they passed through his brain. Couldn't see his own copper flesh or the fluid bursting out in colors of beautiful blues. Couldn't feel his eyes as his hands flew up and held his face. Couldn't hear his own screams. He could no longer feel the weight. It was gone. He was light, floating and frozen. Cold and weightless, just like before.

Even in death he could never escape it.


End file.
